Superman: An Elseworld Story
by SimaoVaz
Summary: Kal-El's journey into becoming Superman is one of insecurity, doubt and trust. Narrated in POV chapters, this re-imagination of Superman's mythos allows to see his ascension from the perspective of different people. Dive into the minds of Jonathan Kent, Martha Kent, Lois Lane, Kal-El and others as the world witnesses the birth of The Man Of Tomorrow.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Superman or any characters related to Superman. Superman and its related characters are the property of DC Entertainment and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **SUPERMAN: AN ELSEWORLD STORY**

 **by: SimaoVaz**

Based upon characters appearing in comic books published by DC Entertainment.

Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster

 **PROLOGUE**

 **LAST SON**

Five years earlier and things could have been different. Had we not spent them fighting amongst ourselves for useless causes, false ideals, and perhaps we could still have a chance.

There were many ways this could come to pass. We could've had a meteor shower, the planet core could've become unstable and explode, the Phantom Zone could've consumed us or we could've had a civil war due to the limited resources here. But something far simple has happen. It's the sun, our sun. Like all of us, like Krypton, like our customs, the red sun, the star that gives us life, that feeds us, is dying. And like all living things, like us, like Krypton, stubborn and relentless, our sun refuses to die. In a final act of defiance against time, it grows, expands as if by occupying more space that will spare the inevitable end that awaits it. And it's this expansion, this desire of looking bigger and better than ever, that will destroy Krypton.

It's ironic, in its own way, that the very star allowing us to live will be the instrument of our doom. But you knew this all along didn't you? You, the man who told me, six years ago, that we should have a plan, that we should ensure that Krypton survived in case of a disaster. You, Jor-El, were a genius. Always looking forward, to the future. A future neither you nor I will be able to live.

But he will. Flying off the planet now, in a little pod designed by me, I was always more proficient engineer out of the two of us. You would dream the instruments, I would make them reality. We were the perfect couple, and we'll soon be back together, my love.

This planet is already gone. The sun expands at an alarming rate. Temperatures have gone up all over Krypton, water is drying, crops and plants are burning up, all that's left is wait until we are the ones burning. No one will stand a chance.

But he will. Flying off the planet now. Our son, Jor-El, is not ours anymore. He will be the only kryptonian in the universe. Our son, Jor-El, is the last son of Krypton.


	2. Chapter 1 - Martha

**PART 1 – AMONG US**

 **MARTHA KENT**

The door slams, echoing like a thunder through the night. The whole house seems to shake with the impact, threatening to crumble down like the relationship of the ones who live in it.

Me and Jonathan have been married for eight years. In those eight years, we were able to give each other whatever we wanted, whatever we needed. Without a doubt, the happiest years of my life are the ones I've spent with him. And yet, now, here we are, separated by the walls of a house we built together. I'm nervous. I start cleaning the dishes, that's what I do when I'm nervous. I go through the motions automatically, like an assembly line, and my mind wanders off.

It's not his fault, it's no one's fault. After eight years we learn that...Jonathan...it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. We are happy together, we have our house, our farm, we live off what we make. We only go into town when Jonathan needs mechanical parts for the truck or some house repairs. We are happy together. We are happy in the life we built together.

If I were to ask anything, not that it matters, it shouldn't matter, but if I were to ask anything, I would ask for...I can't even say it. Why can't I even say it? Has reality fallen so sudden and hard that I can't speak of the shattered dreams that I...that we had? I must say it. I have to acknowledge that...we...Jonathan and I...we can't have children.

Tears roll down my eyes at the thought of that. I stopped doing the dishes a while ago, perhaps I haven't really started doing them in the first place. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to have a son, or a daughter, or both. They would grow up and help me and Jonathan with the farm. They would get their partners, bring them over, shyly at first, almost apologetic for the fact they found someone they want to spend the rest of their lives with. Me and Jonathan would make some jokes, get to know them, put them at ease. Jonathan is great at making people comfortable. Then our kids would bring their partners more often. Christmas, New Year's, Easter, birthdays...we would have big "get-togethers", they would sleep over, causing me to worry about cleaning the house and getting the rooms ready.

But all of this seems so strange now. It feels like reflections of a life I'll never have, a life to which I have been denied access to. And all of this because Jonathan...

Oh god...Jonathan.

I run to the door of the kitchen and open it, almost releasing it from its hinges. I look over the farm. Where are you, Jonathan? Think, Martha, think, where would Jonathan go to process what's just happened? You do the dishes when you're nervous and Jonathan...

The barn. Jonathan goes to the barn. Every time he has something on his mind, he goes to the barn. He repairs things, disassembles the tractor and puts it back together, cleans the barn, anything to keep his mind off things. When he was going to propose, for example, he spent hours there, thinking of what to say, how to say it. When his mother died he spent almost two full days in there.

I look over to my left, the big brown building rises, imposing, secure of itself, unlike the people that built it years ago. I run towards it. I must go, I must tell Jonathan that it's not his fault, it's no one's fault. I have to say that it doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter because as long as we have our house, our farm, as long as we have each other, we will be fine.

The door to the barn is slightly open, there's light coming from inside. I squeeze through the gap. Jonathan is sat on the floor against the opposite wall, curled up, crying, sobbing like a child, the child we will never be able to have. This distorted image of my husband, crippled and crumbled, tears me in two. But I must be strong, I have to be here for him. No crying, Martha, you have to be strong. For him.

"Jonathan?" I say, trying to keep my voice as clear as possible. I hear him struggling to stop sobbing, trying, himself, to be strong for me. "I just want to say..."

"I know, Martha." He interrupts, abruptly, with a broken voice. "I know what you are going to say. But I can't stop feeling like I've failed you. I failed you as your husband. I can give you all these things, a house, a farm, a living, but I can't give you a kid. And I know how much you want children, hell, I know how much I want children. I have failed you, I can't stop feeling like I have failed you and..."

To hear him speak like that, putting truth down on the table in such a cruel, raw, cold way...To hear him speak my mind so clearly, to realise that he is still the man I love, the man I married. The man that makes me smile with silly jokes. The man that makes me feel protected yet free. To hear him still speaking...

"Shut up." I say, this time with tears rolling down my own face. "All I know right now is that this doesn't matter. Nothing matters as long as we are here. There aren't any problems, there are solutions. So get up, Jonathan, get up and let's find a solution. Get up and let's be happy."

Somewhere along those lines, he has gotten up and wrapped me in his arms. His hug is still as warm as ever, his chest still as safe as always. We walk out, hands held tight, ready to close the door on our problems and put the barn in the past.

But a strange sound makes us look up.

At first I thought it was a small plane falling down from the sky. That was until we noticed the shooting star, lighting up the night sky like the sun, falling down. A thing of beauty, an image so strong that makes Jonathan and I look at each other. In that moment, I knew we would find the solution. He kissed me and we stood there, in that kiss. A moment that seemed to last forever, cut short by a crashing sound coming from behind the barn.

My hears were still ringing, but over the buzzing sound I heard that someone, not Jonathan, not me, someone else was crying.


	3. Chapter 2 - Jonathan

**JONATHAN KENT**

"I knew this day would come. I knew there was going to be a day when Clark would want answers, a day when he would question everything he thought he knew.

I mean if these were questions any ten year old asks, the situation would be different. It seems somehow easier to explain what traffic lights are than laying down the concept of pain, or clarifying why it is that other kids can't pick up tractor tires with one arm. I knew this would happen. There was going to be a day when Clark would start asking questions to which we do not have the answers for. I suppose that happens to everyone, to every parent. I suppose there always comes a day when parents can't teach their kids anything else.

I just wasn't expecting it to be this early."

Sitting on the other side of the table, Martha looks at me. She has that look on her face, a look I've seen for years, but I'll never be used to. Her hair is up in a bun and her head is slightly tilted to left. There's a half smile on her mouth and her grey eyes lay on me with the sweetness of a mother's kiss. This is a look of pride.

"What?" I ask, knowing perfectly well what her answer will be.

"Nothing." She says, unsurprisingly. "I'm just proud of the man I've married."

No matter how many times she says that, the words still slice through me like a hot knife in warm butter. Proud isn't exactly what I thought she would be ten years ago when we found out that I was infertile. By then I thought it would be it, the thing that would make Martha reconsider the relationship. That night, ten years ago, when I ran out of the house and closed myself in the barn, like children hide when they've done something wrong, when I thought the Kent family wouldn't go on for another generation, was both the saddest and happiest moment of my life.

That thought makes me look out the window, through the farm. It looks beautiful. The crops rise high, above six feet tall, with the orange light of sun down giving it a gold colour. It seems all but fitting as it is a priceless image. Through those perfectly trimmed yellow fields, however, there's a black trail that starts just halfway.

That must be where Clark is.

"Go to him, Jonathan." Martha says while suddenly grabbing my hand. "He is going to need you, now more than ever. He's going to start to change soon, he will have all these questions, all these doubts. God knows what he will be thinking or feeling. You'll have to be there by his side. Jonathan, Clark will need his father."

The part of me that thinks I'm not Clark's real father gets quickly shutdown. Martha is right. I need to be there. Clark is my happiness, my world. He is my son.

I get up and kiss Martha on the forehead. "Keep an eye out" I say. She strokes my face and smiles. I open the door, a razor sharp wind makes me pick up my red wool scarf. I start running towards the crops, the sun is quickly going down, giving place to the night and involving the farm in darkness, making my job of following Clark's trail all the more difficult. I don't want to call him because I know he won't reply and, worst case scenario, will start running or will jump eight stories high and disappear. I seem to be on the right track, though.

And, sure enough, I am.

I don't know what I was expecting to find when I found Clark, but surely wasn't expecting to find him so calm. He's just laying down on the floor, arms and legs spread out like a five pointed star, and he's looking up to the sky, silently watching the night conquering the light of day. He seems happy. Perhaps he knows that's where he belonged, one day, out there by the stars, perhaps, in his mind, he's flying with them. Any word I say now will only make him crash back to Earth, so I decide to lay down next to him and, with him, observe the darkness unfold.

We stay like that for a good five minutes, just the two of us, looking up. I have to fight the urge to say anything or even look at Clark. I feel like this is the time for him to ask me whatever he wants, so I won't pressure. Almost as if he was reading my mind, Clark breaks the silence.

"Dad?" He says, in a childish voice that melts my heart. "I'm sorry."

I know a father should be assertive and sure of himself but, at this moment, I am not. I sit up slowly, though, and turn my head to Clark. The bright moonlight shows me that whatever happiness was on his face the moment I laid down, has now vanquished. Clark seems sad and disappointed, I can also see that he's holding back a tear.

"What are you sorry for?" I almost surprise myself by how warm I sound.

"For not being like the other kids. For not asking the questions they all ask. I'm sorry for not being someone you and mum can help with when I need to pick something up, or when I need to clean up my room. I'm sorry that I've never had a bruise or that I've never bled so you can take care of me and look after me. I'm sorry that I've burned half the crops last spring when you showed them to me. I'm sorry that I froze my birthday candles when I blew them two years ago. I'm sorry I'm not normal."

Clark has sat up as well and was unable to stop himself from crying. His eyes were starting to glow in a familiar shade of red, the same shade they were glowing after lasers came out of them in the spring. I picked up Clarks head and turned it to me. He closed his eyes, probably afraid he was going to lose control and burn me, or worse. But I didn't care.

"Clark, you listen to me. You don't have to apologise. Not to me, not to your mum, not to anyone. All you need to do is learn. The things you can do, the powers you have, they are great gifts. Sure, no one else can do what you do and that can seem terrifying but, in time Clark, in time you will control all your powers." I felt confident with my words. "Open your eyes."

"I...I can't...I might hurt you." Said Clark, terrified.

"You are my son. In your brightest days or in your blackest nights you will never hurt me. The only thing you can do is make me proud. You make me proud of the powers you have. You apologised about burning the crops, but do you forget how it took you about ten minutes to replant everything? I am proud of who you are and I'll be proud of the man you will become one day, because you are my son." I paused, astonished of the speech I'd just delivered. Who knew Pa Kent had that in him? "Now open your eyes, Clark. Look at me."

Clark opened his red eyes and they looked like they were going to turn to fire at any moment. The bright red colour was ready to explode.

"I can't control it, dad." Cried Clark.

"Yes you can. Just think about it. You are in command of your own being. Just think about not seeing red." Despite the security in my voice, I have no idea if it will work or not. The only thing I know is that I trust Clark.

Slowly, his eyes started to loose the red colour and went back to being the two drops of the purest water you can find. Clark's head then tilted forwards, he looked exhausted.

"Are you okay?" I asked, holding him now in a hug.

"Yes. Yes I am. But I'm starving." He replied, both the words and the hug.

"Don't worry, I think Ma is cooking your favourite." I assured just as I started smelling the scent of sausages and pan fried corn. There was no reply from Clark and, as I looked over, I realised that he had fallen asleep on my shoulder. Carefully, I removed my scarf and placed it around his neck and covered the back of his blue tshirt, I picked him up and carried him towards the house. In that moment, that simple moment, I was happy. I had my son in my arms, floating in his land of dreams, and, for the first time in a while. I was sure of myself.

As we got closer to the house, Clark twitched and woke himself up.

"Dad?" He said, still with his head on my shoulder.

"Yes son?"

"Thank you."

And suddenly, it felt like the night had turned into day.


	4. Chapter 3 - Clark

**CLARK KENT**

At this time of the year, the sky above Kent Farm gains a lighter tone at about six in the morning. I like to be here, on the roof of the house, when that happens. I like to see the sun rise. I like to see its warm colours turn the sky into a soft dance between red, orange and yellow. I like to close my eyes and listen to this side of the world wake up.

Everything is so calm. No one's talking, no animals running around, the wind blows a calm breeze and drags some dirt and grass in it. I almost forgot how this feels, to hear everything. I spend so much time holding back...I wonder how far away I can go?

I hear Bobby, Mr and Mrs Kane's dog, waking up, no wonder getting ready to jump on his owners' bed so they can take him for a walk. I focus on listening further. I start to hear cars, buses. Must be Smallville. Some coffee shops have people inside them already, sipping on their hot drinks, getting ready for a new day.

"Clark?"

I can listen to people drinking coffee miles away, and yet, Pa is still able to get up and exit the house without me noticing. The irony just makes me smile. I open my eyes and walk to the edge of the roof. Looking down, I see he is wearing his red checked shirt and denim overalls.

"Morning Pa."

"Morning son. You alright?" He asks, smirking. "I'm sure I could move your bed up there, if you wanted. Could always do with a spare bedroom."

"Why would you want a spare bedroom?" I ask, getting in on the joke.

"To play squash. You know I need to practice." He says, rotating his shoulders backwards as some sort of warm-up.

"Yeah, your swing is not what it used to be." I reply.

"You come talk to me when you reach my age, young man." He points at me smiling. We both laugh for a moment. It's good to have him around. Pa has always been, well, Pa. He's everything I hope I turn into, one day. Wise, funny, loving, and, most of all, righteous. Not a day goes by when I don't think it wasn't a coincidence me crashing on Kent Farm. I seriously doubt that any other family would've raised me the way Ma and Pa did.

Ever since I started showing abilities beyond those of a regular human, Jonathan and Martha have always been supportive and clear with me. They never hid my true identity from me and they never pretended to be my biological parents. As my powers developed, they helped me control them. As I grew up, they educated me. They never ask me to call them mom and dad, but they certainly earned it anyway.

I jump down the roof, focusing on trying to control the landing. I am able to hover for half a second just above the floor, I feel free, almost weightless. I still land pretty hard, but it's definitely an improvement from that one time I left a seven foot wide hole on the back of the farm.

"You're getting better." says Pa.

"I suppose. It's just hard to control those last moments before landing, but can't complain with the progress." I respond. Of all the powers I've developed, my leaping ability is, by far, the biggest wild card. Sure, I'm jumping further and further away, going higher and higher each time, but I lose focus too quickly. I get nervous about crash landing.

"You'll get there one day. Just got to put your mind and heart to it." Dad rolled up his sleeves and picked up a rope and a long stick. "I'm going to go and make the horses run for a bit."

"Do you want any help?"

"I think I'll be fine. Your mom might want some help, though. She's picking apples for the pie later. She also said she wanted to talk to you."

Even though I am eighteen years old, even though I know I haven't done anything wrong, the words "Ma wants to talk to you" make me feel like a scared kid again.

"What about?" I'm trying to sound like I'm not scared.

"What do you think?" Dad turns around and walks towards the stables. "She wants you to save the world."

Ah...this again.

For the last couple of months, Ma and Pa have been keen on the idea that, after graduation, I should move out, go to a big city and use my abilities to help people. I've said that I'd prefer to stay on the farm, helping them. Pa says he believes that is the wrong thing to do but, ultimately, it's my choice. Ma has been more quiet on this. Until now, it seems.

She's on the other side of the farm, wearing almost the same clothes as dad with the exception of the blue coloured shirt. She's on top of the ladder, catching the apples on the higher branches and dropping them into a basket on the floor. I walk towards her, thinking of a million arguments to convince her to drop the case of me moving somewhere else.

"Good morning, Ma."

"Good morning, honey." She says with her sweet voice. "How are you? Did you sleep okay?"

Eighteen years and she still asks me if I've slept okay like I am eight years old. Maybe the fact that the first time I had a nightmare when I was younger, I ended up tearing a piece of the wall out. I remember it made me feel terrible. Seeing mom and dad almost scared out of their lives, seeing them struggling with the idea that, one day, I could take the whole house down...it made me horrified of my powers. It was a turning point. I knew, there and then, that I had to learn how to control my strength and everything else I can do.

"If I had a bad dream, you would know." I reply, slightly ashamed of that memory.

"Of course I would, you would tell me." She replied with a smile that always make me feel at home. Makes me feel human, normal.

A slightly awkward silence falls between us. I don't want to start this conversation again, but it's better to just get it over with.

"Pa said you wanted to talk to me?" She turns to me and nods. "Okay, but let me just say something. What you want me to do, use my powers to help others, I know it's the right thing to do. I know that should be reason enough for me to go out there and start, I don't know, put out fires or something. I know that. But what if I don't want to? What if I'm not meant to do that? You've always taught me that the world has rules and that those rules shouldn't be broken."

She has such a different way of looking at me than Pa has. Everytime I said something like that to Pa, he would look sad, almost disappointed. Ma, however, has a smile on her face. She looks like she's about to tell me I'm being naive or silly.

"Clark. We are not saying you should break any rules. We are not saying that you should do something you don't want to. We want you to be happy. We want you to do something that makes you feel complete. Whether that means you'll be working on the farm or writing for journal, it doesn't matter to us. We are going to support you no matter what." She places a hand on my cheek. "You are our baby boy. You are our world. We will be with you, whatever you do. But we need you to ask yourself something."

With chills down my spine I ask "What?"

"You've spent the last couple of years asking yourself why you were sent here. Now ask yourself why would you stay here, on Earth. You might have been sent here for a reason. But doesn't matter. At the end of the day, you find your own purpose. Maybe you can put these things you can do, these powers, to good use. You are clever, strong, you can melt steel with your eyes and freeze fire with your breath. Maybe, one day, this will all come in handy. Or maybe not. One day you might face a situation where your powers might help someone. On that day, whatever you do, Clark, whatever action you take, you'll live with it forever. I just want you to think about it, to prepare yourself for the world out there."

When my parents started to talk to me about the importance of the things I can do, of who I am, when they started talking about serious stuff with me, I always tended to start getting tears in my eyes. The fact that I could do anything and still have them by my side, no matter what, always felt overwhelming. This time, however, Ma has put things down as they are.

It's my responsibility. Whatever I do, whatever I don't do, it's on me.

"Wow, Ma. That was...I'll think about it." Those are the only words I can mutter, looking down to my feet. Ma, however, picks my chin up.

"Don't be afraid. You don't owe us anything." She then kisses me on the forehead and smiles.

I hear something, it's close, but not too close so that mom can hear it.

It's the horses.

"Mom, hold my arm. Something's wrong." She does it and I run to the stables. I get there in less that two seconds. My mother almost gets sick, I don't know if it is from the high speed run or from the scenario in front of us.

Lying on the ground, with pieces of shattered wood around him, is Bill, one of the horses. He is moving, trying to get himself back up but two of his legs are broken. What is most concerning, though, is the blood coming from underneath him. Dark red, almost the colour of wine, it's spreading rapidly and, the more it does, the less Bill is moving and struggling. Dad is just beside him, trying to calm him down.

"What happened?" Mom asked. She is horrified, I hear her heart pounding in her chest.

"Bill was running and suddenly missed a jump, ended up collapsing against the barrier and broke his legs." Dad is also terrified. He's trying to hold himself together. "The blood, I...I...I don't know where it's coming from."

I look at Bill, still struggling, but less now, almost as if he realised what will happen. I look at its majestic black body, I hear his heart fighting to get the blood running in his body without realising that every pump made to keep Bill alive is actually killing him.

"He's suffering so much." I say, looking at mom and dad. "There must be a solution, something we can do."

"There isn't, Clark. We either wait for him to die...or we put him down." Dad struggled to get that last bit out. It's a horrible idea, to kill a living thing. But as I look at Bill he looks back at me, its big black eyes meeting my blue ones. I can swear he knows what we are talking about. That is a begging look. A look of someone who has suffered enough.

I approach Bill and drop to my knees. I run my hand through his body, trying to calm him down, lying, saying that everything is going to be okay. After one last look, Bill places his head on the floor.

For mom, dad and Bill. What I did must have been an instant, a blink of an eye. To me, it took minutes. Applying pressure over the heart, I felt Bill's ribs crack one at the time, I felt his heart struggling to pump with the added pressure and, finally giving up. Even now, as I take my hand off, I can still feel it beating, living.

I'm brought back by two different hands being placed on my shoulders.

"Clark?" Says my mom on my left.

"Son?" Says my dad on my right.

"I'm sorry." I say. "I didn't want him to suffer."

I am crying. I'm crying like a baby. Crying like I cried when I landed on Earth. Crying like the ten year old who disappointed his dad. I'm crying because I've just killed. I broke something that can't be fixed. Mom and dad fall on their knees and embrace me, hold me like they did eighteen years ago. Hold me like their son.

"You did the right thing." Dad is, as always, trying to calm me down and cheer me up. This time, it isn't working.

"There was no hope for Bill." Mom grounds me and says it like it is. Hope. There wasn't any hope, she's right. Bill was going to die anyway. But there would've been hope if I had gone with dad. I could've stopped it.

I could've been hope.


	5. Chapter 4 - Clark

**PART 2 - THE MAN OF TOMORROW, TODAY**

 **CLARK KENT**

I wake up to the sound of silence. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, wrapped in a sleeping bag inside a small one person tent. I can't hear anything outside, which comes with no surprise considering the blizzard that I had to run away from yesterday.

I take my backpack from underneath my head and sit up. I open it and look for something to eat. I'm not really hungry, during this journey I realised I can go a lot longer than regular people without food, but living with Ma and Pa has made me used to having three meals a day. Plus, if I don't eat anything, I can almost imagine Ma's voice in my head saying that I won't leave the house until I have breakfast. I settle with a chocolate and peanut butter bar. I open the package. The bar has frozen over night, it has ice all over it. Shouldn't really be a problem, but just because I have enhanced strength, it doesn't mean I should eat frozen food.

I focus my mind on my heat vision and immediately two red laser-focused lines leave my eyes. After two seconds, I stop and the chocolate bar has defrosted. Pleased with myself, I devour my breakfast in three bites.

"Come on, Clark, today is the day" I say, as I start to get ready to pack everything and leave.

And today has to be the day.

It's been four years since I left Kansas in hope of finding the ship that brought me to Earth. When I left, I had nothing to hold on to, no clues, no ideas. I mean, where do you go looking for an eighteen year old alien ship that crashed landed in the middle of the United States of America? I travelled to Metropolis to look into the archives of the Daily Star, I did the same thing with the Gazette in Gotham. Nothing. Two of the largest newspapers in the world and, yet, no news about any form of object impacting Earth. When I told this to Ma and Pa, they told me that the ship disappeared off the barn during the night, but that no one had gone get it.

And that got me thinking.

What if the ship was still operational? What if its instructions were to go as far as possible from humans? Pa always said that people will never be ready to know that they are not alone in the Universe. Perhaps whoever sent me here knew that as well.

At this point I had one clue, which was more than I had ever had. I started travelling across the world, visiting the furthest corners of it, sneaking to the most isolated parts, looking for my ship. I traversed the Sahara dessert, explored the Amazonian forest, ran through Devon Island climbed Mount Everest but still, couldn't find anything. The ship seemed to have disappeared.

I thought of giving up, of going back home, back to the farm. There was no evidence that the ship had even stayed on Earth. Or that it hadn't destroyed itself, or something. I thought of just turning my back on the right thing to do.

But I couldn't. That would be wrong. I had to keep looking, I had to search for something, anything, that would tell me who I am, who I really am.

And that is why I am in the North Pole.

Difficult to imagine a more isolated place than this. Even with my powers I can't sense anyone. Everything is quiet. The only thing I can hear is the ice slowly cracking beneath my feet. I feel completely alone. After I pack my tent, I close my eyes for a minute and enjoy the sense of solitude.

I hear a sound.

I open my eyes and look around me. Where did it come from? It was an instant, less than a second. A small beep and nothing else. Could it be my imagination? Or maybe I lost control of my hearing and listened to something far far away.

No, there it is again. It wasn't my imagination. I start to run towards the origin of the sound. It looks like it's beeping at irregular intervals, becoming more frequent the more I run. Can it sense me? Can it be? Can this finally be it?

The beeping has stopped and has been replaced by a constant high pitch buzzing of a sound. I stop running and look around, searching for something other than a white and blue desert of ice and water. Nothing. But the sound keeps ringing in my ears like a loud drill.

A drill.

It has to be underneath me. I look down but I don't see anything apart from ice. I get down on one knee and focus my eyes. My heat vision starts melting some of the ice, releasing a steam cloud. I need to be careful to not burn whatever is down there, if anything. Suddenly, a red ray comes out of the ice, towards the sky, just next to my hand. I get startled by it and close my eyes to stop my heat vision. I don't know any material in the world that can reflect those rays.

In this world, anyway.

With my heart racing in my chest, I start melting the ice in circular motions and, at the same time, I use my hands to take out chunks of it.

And that is when I finally see what I've been looking for.

Buried in the ice, completely frozen, is a four foot long oval object with three wings on one end. This has to be it, my ship. I break the ice surrounding it, pick it up and place it on the ground next to me. I study it. Each of the wings is coloured red whilst the ship itself is blue. On the side, there's a big red diamond with a red S in the middle carved on the hull. At the other end, there's what seems to be a yellow coloured window. This part of the ship seems to be some sort of cockpit. I grab one of the hinges and open it. The inside of the ship is empty apart from two things, a monitor and a bright red blanket placed in the middle of a bed. I reach for the blanket.

When I grab hold of it, the ship comes to life. It starts shaking and making noises, the cockpit closes and the ships starts hovering. I get up. The ship is matching my height. The cockpit opens once again, only this time there's a man's face on the monitor.

He appears to be around forty years old, he has medium long black hair and a beard. He's wearing a robe with the same diamond symbol that was on the side of the red He looks somehow familiar.

"Hello Kal." His voice is deep, full. The voice of a wise man. I look at him and wait for the recording to carry on. The man smiled and said "I am not a recording, Kal. I'm here, you can speak to me."

This catches me off guard. I clear my throat and speak.

"Uh...hello. Who...who are you?"

"I am your father, Kal, or, at least, an image of him. I'm part of his consciousness. I am here to help you answer any questions you might have."

If there's something I have is questions. Mainly how my father's consciousness is inside a computer. It all seems so surreal. But there are other pressing matters I want answers for.

"You called me Kal. Is that my name? My real name?"

"Kal-El, yes." The man, my father, smiled. "You are the son of Jor-El and Lara-El."

I have so many questions burning my brain, I don't know where to start. I decide to go for the most direct ones.

"Where are you? Where am I from?" I have to bite my tongue in order to stop myself from asking every single question I have.

"We are not alive anymore, Kal. About twenty two years ago, Krypton, our home planet, was consumed by the sun it revolved around of. Unlike everyone else, I was able to foresee that event and, together, your mother and I built this pod in order to send you to Earth. Everyone else in Krypton died with the planet." Father looked calm, like he was telling me a bedtime story.

"Why Earth?" I ask. Why would my parents send me to a place where I would be so different from everyone else.

"We chose Earth of all places because humans have the closest physiology to kryptonians than any other species in the Universe, so we knew that Earth's atmosphere wouldn't be hostile to you. We also knew the yellow sun of this planet, younger than our own, would give you extraordinary abilities. Just how extraordinary, remained to be seen."

"But I am so different from them. They are so fragile, weak."

My father looked at me as though he was expecting this.

"They struggle, Kal. They are a young species. They've made mistakes and they will continue to make them. But you can help them. Earth has welcomed you, you can now repay its welcoming. You look like the humans, Kal. You are a god shaped in their image. You can give them something they can rally behind. You are the last son of Krypton, but you're also a son of Earth. You can be the best of them, the best of us."

This is the moment. The moment my parents, back in the farm, told me would come. The moment I ran away from for years. The moment I decide whether to embrace the right choice or run away from it. I look at my father on the screen, happy for finally seeing his son, smiling for, he himself, having made the right choice.

The right choice.

"What would the people of Earth rally behind?" I ask, ready to make my decision.

My father's answer is a simple word.

"You."

For a moment, I could not believe what my eyes were seeing. The rest of the ship detached itself from the cockpit and, what had previously been a hard metal able to deflect my heat vision, was now a floating material stuck between being a liquid and a gas. This material pulled the red blanket from the cockpit and mixed itself with it. It then started floating towards me. I looked to my father on screen. He nodded as if he was saying everything was going to be okay. I dropped my backpack on the floor and reached for the substance.

The material started to wrap itself around my arm and shoulder. It had a soft feeling, warm to the touch. Soon, it wrapped itself on to my chest and legs, as well as my other arm. The blanket was falling on my back, like a cape. The substance solidified, giving me a layer of clothing.

A suit. I looked at myself. The suit, blue as the ship, was simple, plain, my feet were wearing boots that came up to just below my knees. The sleeves came down to my wrists. On my chest, a big red diamond with a red S over a yellow background was showing. The same symbol the ship had, the same symbol my father has on his chest.

"The coat of arms of the House of El." He says, after seeing me looking at it.

"It looks like an S" I say, touching it. "What does it mean?"

"The House of El believes that its coat of arms is personal to every member. We have always believed in making our own choices and believing our own principles. This symbol will mean something to you different than what it meant to me. To me, it meant knowledge and freedom. To you it means..."

"Hope." I interrupt. "It means hope." My father looked at me. Proud. "What am I to do now?"

"It is your choice, Kal. It will always be your choice. I will always be here if you need me." He looked at me one last time and said "Your mother would be proud. I know I am."

The screen turned itself off. The cockpit of the ship was still intact, I should keep it safe. I decide to bury it back in the ice so no one can find it apart from me. I place it, together with my backpack, on the crater I created and blow cold air in order to form a wall around it. After it is disguised, I look up to the sun.

So you are the source of my abilities. You are the reason why I can do all these things. You are younger than the sun I was born under. Your radiation gives me these...superpowers that I should put to good use.

So be it.

I jump up in the air, ready to leave this place. The cape flies bright on my back, giving me more stability during my time in the air. I start falling when the words that Pa told me years ago come to my head.

"You can do anything you want, you hear me? You put your mind to it, Clark, and you can do anything you want."

I start to think about staying in the air, maintaining stability. I face the floor like a diver who's ready to enter the water, and reach my arm out, extending my body. Like a plane, I try to pull myself up in the air. After an enormous curve, I'm back up with the wind blowing on my face and the sun shining on my suit. I reach my other arm out and I think of going faster. Just like back in the farm, I test my ability, I try to see how far I can go, how fast I can go.

It wasn't until I heard the noise of the sky cracking open that I realised.

I can fly.


	6. Chapter 5 - Jimmy

**JIMMY OLSEN**

This is such an ordinary day.

I woke up feeling great. I had a plan. Get up at the crack of dawn and go out to take pictures of the sun rising. Not really the actual sun, I mean. So many people do that already. I know of about a billion photos of the sun rising over the sea, or the hills, or between skyscrapers. No, I wanted to take pictures of my city waking up, getting ready for the day ahead.

Central City has always been amazing in the mornings. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, ready to be taken by the frenetic customers, fills the streets from the very early hours of the day. The sound of people walking to work, talking to their phones about how late they are going to be, or how late they already are, rises above any other sound in the city. And that's not even what I like most about Central City. That's not even its best quality.

The best thing about Central City is its colours at sun rise. As soon as the first rays of light hit the tall buildings on the street, Central City gets involved in a bright red tone, a lively colour. It's unlike anything I've ever seen. It's almost like the feeling of reading a book again. Everything seems different, yet familiar. Every building becomes something else. Every person becomes someone else, or maybe they just become themselves, I don't know. All I know is that everything gains a new life, a new story. The story I want to tell.

I guess waking up with this ever changing city outside my window, everyday, for twenty two years, has made me want to capture those moments, those stories, in pictures. They are little bits of time, doorways to the past.

So that was my plan. But, of course, things just couldn't go according to plan, could they? I had to be called in to work, to Standler's Special, the best restaurant in downtown Metropolis. Or so the sign says. And, of course, the bridge is packed.

The Wheeler-Nicholson Bridge was once one of the pride jewel of both Central City and Metropolis. Extending across Fox Bay with two levels of four lanes, the bridge was thought impossible to build but thanks to a joint effort of Star Labs and LexCorp, the people of Central City and Metropolis were now closer together. That was until the two companies that financed the whole thing started to fight over who should go down in history for such an achievement. Five years and numerous court cases later, the bridge is now left with little to no maintenance due to a corporate cold war. Thing is, like me, a lot of people in Central City started to look for a job in Metropolis and vice versa. And that leaves me in the middle of the traffic, completely stuck.

A sudden flash of light gets me in the eye. I look out the window, searching for the origin. When I find it, I can't help but daydream. Standing as the tallest building in Metropolis is the Daily Star, home of the most famous newspaper this side of the bay. The exterior is all glass, a symbol of the paper being incorruptible and running news that matter. If I could choose, that is where I would work. As a photographer for the Daily Star. But it's tough, the editor-in-chief, Perry White, is known to be quite strict with the people he hires. "What is it about you that no one else has in this building?" That's what he asked me when I applied. And the truth is...nothing. I'm just a regular guy who wakes up early in the morning to take pictures of a city still half asleep.

There's a shot here. The sun shines its light on the building who reflects it all over the city. I take out my camera from my bag on the passenger seat. I look forward to check the traffic, part of me hoping that it's moving, part of me hoping it's not. The later is the happiest. I place the camera strap around my neck, open the window and lean outside. I point the lens towards the centre of the Daily Star, it takes me a moment to align the shot, but when I do, I breathe in to steady my hands and press the button.

A quick metallic sound and a blink of the lens tells me that I've captured another window of the past. I quickly check it on the camera screen. It turned out better than I expected. The glass building looks like it's made from pure light, it's a sun within the city, shining bright and warm. I try to think of names for the picture but nothing seems more appropriate than simply Star. I lean back in my seat, camera still around my neck and notice a little rumbling underneath me. Must mean that the traffic is finally moving up a bit. I look forward, ready to press the accelerator, but notice that no car is moving. And yet, the floor is rumbling more and more. I start to see people leaving their vehicles and looking up, to the second floor of the bridge, pointing and gasping.

I open my door and leave my car. Like everyone else, I look up.

It's an earthquake, and it's bad. Real bad.

The bridge is now physically shaking, cars are starting to move around a bit and, on the top floor, cracks begin to appear. The whole thing is going to come down. Panic is instated, people are running away, children are being carried, men and women are climbing over cars, trying to get off the bridge, to safety. I should really do the same. But I can't. For some reason I am paralyzed. It could be fear, I think being on a bridge that is collapsing is reason enough to fear for your life, but this is something else.

There's a shot here. There's a story that is screaming to get told. Cars are starting to fall off the edge of the bridge into the water. This is suicidal, and a bit stupid, but I am going to take these pictures. I point my camera up, down, left and right, taking pictures of everything I can. The falling cars, the people running away, the screams. Photography is all about moments, seconds that get immortalized. Chunks of rubble are now falling from the top floor. It's only a matter of minutes until it comes down.

I start following everyone's example and run towards one end of the bridge. I try to climb over some of the cars that are blocking my way, but the bridge is shaking too much. I loose my ground and fall on my back. As I look up, the bottom of the top floor cracks open. Cars start falling everywhere, crashing on the vehicles of the lower lanes. I am paralyzed, but this time it's all fear. In the middle of this catastrophe, a green sports car starts falling, and it's coming right for me.

I've always heard of people saying that your life flashes before your eyes just as you are about to die. That always sounded weird to me. I mean, if you lived for eighty years, I'm sure there would be a lot of flashing, right? It's a lot of years to remember, that's all I'm saying. But right now I get what they mean. It's not like your whole life appears before you, it's more that you can only think of the things you hold dearest to you. The people, the places, the creations, the memories, that is all you can think of in the moments before you die. That's what's happening to me. The pictures I've taken, my mum and dad, Central City by sun rise, it's all I can remember now. The smell of coffee, the people on the streets, the bright red colour of the morning...

That car is getting closer now. I don't have time to do anything. But you know what? There's a shot here. If I'm going to die, at least I'll take the pictures no one else can. I know that the camera, like myself, will be crushed by the weight of that car, but I feel less frightened when I have a lens between me and the world. I point the camera up, close my eyes and hold down the button for a burst of pictures, my last pictures, the last story I'll ever tell.

It feels strange waiting for your own death. It takes such a long time. Why is it taking so long? Do I dare opening my eyes just to see that car falling on me? I don't. I remain here just waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Why am I still waiting?

I open my eyes. I cannot believe what I'm seeing.

A man, a regular man, is holding the car that was about to crash me above his head. He's wearing some sort of blue suit and a red cape. He's got a red S inside a diamond on his chest. He's...smilling? forget what I said about regular. This man is holding a car and he is smiling at me like a benevolent angel who has just allowed an inferior being to live. He places the car on the floor like someone puts a baby in bed. He helps me up.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his voice calm and low.

"I guess so..." I want to thank him but I'm still getting over what I've just seen.

"I need to get you to safety, there are more people that need help." He picks me up and then jumps...no, flies to the one end of the bridge that is not falling apart. After putting me down, he disappears. Next thing we know, the cars that are falling off the bridge are coming back up, pushed by some red and blue blur whizzing through the air. People start cheering, no doubt a nervous reaction.

"Who is that?" Some ask.

"I dunno, but it sure saved our asses back there!" Others say.

"Sorry, excuse me." Someone touches me on the shoulder. I turn around. A woman, around my age, is looking at me. She is slightly taller than me, but then again I am not the tallest of guys, she has got black hair that match her black-toned skin perfectly. She is very pretty.

"Yes?" I can't really speak right now.

"He saved you, didn't he? The man in blue?" I can only nod at her and look back to the scene. The earthquake seems to have stopped but the blue blur is still flying around, saving people from wreckage and cleaning up the bridge.

"Excuse me, sorry to be a pain." The girl is now face to face with me. "I can't help but notice you have a camera, I was wondering if you didn't accidentally take pictures of him."

My camera!

I had totally forgot about it. I turn the screen to myself, the girl circles me so she can check the pictures. I go back to the moment I started the burst. It's really dramatic, the car falling, slowly, towards the camera, and then, out of nowhere, he appears. He grabs the car and falls on one knee with the weight of it, but then, gets back up on both legs. The S on his chest is in great focus, somehow, dragging all the attention from the rest of the frame.

"These are really good pictures, Mr...?"

"Olsen. Jimmy Olsen." I say. Good to know I still remember my name.

"Nice to meet you." She smiles and I smile back, I feel so alive now. I've also heard about this, the fact that, after experiencing a near death experience, people gain a new view on life, generally becoming more grateful for everything. "Listen, I need to ask you something. Could I borrow some of those pictures for my blog? I'm trying to get into journalism and, if I write an article with those pictures, there's no way one of the papers in Metropolis in not going to notice me."

Journalism...

"Hum...sure, but you have to say I took them! You see I'm also trying to get into journalism." Trying is a very strong word for what I've done. Applied once to the Daily Star, that was it. "So maybe someone will notice me as well.

"Oh yeah, sure." She seemed okay with it. She pulled a notepad out of her bag, wrote something on it, tore that page and gave it to me. "That's my phone number, call me when you're ready, I understand this is quite the shocking time."

She starts turning away to leave. I look to her number but something is missing.

"Err, sorry." I say. "I can call you, but I don't know your name and, well, you didn't write it down."

"Oh, I forgot." She seems a bit embarrassed by such an omission. "Name is Lois. Lois Lane."


End file.
